A Britican Breakfast
For the first 3.5 years living in the States, I essentially immersed myself in the So-Cal, American lifestyle. Hungry after work but no time to stop at home before going on to the next thing? Jack in the Box curly fries it is! July 4th? No longer just another rainy summer’s day, now it means baseball and hot dogs. I even tried that whole driving on the right side of the road thing, despite my best efforts to stay left during my one driving lesson before taking the test. (The instructor just waited for me to figure it out and move right. It didn’t happen.)
But more recently, I’ve been missing all things British in a way I simply didn’t for the first couple of years. And one thing that Facebook has taught me, is that the Brits have quite a presence in Los Angeles and that with a little digging I can easily experience the best of both my worlds. Which is a long way of introducing a new mini series on this blog, in which I explore British offerings around my adopted city.
My first offering features a British pub that sits in the heart of my own American dream – The Village Idiot on Melrose Avenue in Hollywood. I was in the area one Saturday morning getting my annual eye examination,* since apparently I decided that my optician should be in the most inconvenient place to reach either before or after work. After my handsome eye doctor (shout out to Dr. Ryan!) dilated my pupils I had an hour or two to kill before I could safely operate my car (safe being a relative idea, considering the above story) so I stumbled a few blocks to the apartment building in which my friends A and D both have apartments. Have you ever tried walking in Hollywood?! The pavement is so uneven I’m amazed I didn’t faceplant and require a new Hollywood nose. Anyway, brunch was decided upon and we walked (slowly, for the temporarily blind among us) to a bright, British-style establishment I’d not before heard of.
Going in, my first thought was that it doesn’t look terribly British, being a sparsely decorated restaurant with a lot of space; a pleasing ambience but not Old World-y. And of course, there was way too much sun filtering through the windows to be believably British, but I digress. Once we sat down, a quick glance at the brunch menu allayed my skepticism somewhat, as my eyes fell upon the two most glorious words in the English food language: Heinz beans. I know the company is American but for some reason their baked beans are a staple of the British diet, whereas in America you’re hard-pressed to find a tin that doesn’t contain bacon. (I’m one of the few people who’s not, like, in love with bacon. Especially the American kind; it’s all crunch, no chew…)
With the comforting presence of tomato-infused beans on the menu, I went ahead and completely forgot my mission here and ordered something so completely un-British that I’m ashamed to type it: cornmeal biscuits and sausage gravy, with two eggs. A and D were just as bad, ordering items called “The Yank” and “Rancher’s Breakfast:”
Yeah, we were just drinking water all brunch and certainly not delicious mimosas
Thank goodness D got the memo that napkin-face is huge in Britain right now
Here’s a little brunch trivia for y’all: What we call a Mimosa in the States is called Bucks Fizz in the UK, after the Buck’s Club in London where the orange-champagne cocktail was invented in 1921 as an excuse to drink earlier in the day. Reading that on Wikipedia just confirmed all my stereotypes about gentlemen of the ’20s.
Other very British offerings on their menu, that I hope to return and try sometime, include fish and chips (of course), crispy pork belly (I don’t even know what this is), a soft boiled egg with toast soldiers (hello childhood!), brussel sprouts wrapped in bacon, steak and potato pie, and sticky toffee pudding, which they’ve called sticky toffee cake so as not to confuse the Americanos.
In short, I didn’t get a super-British vibe from The Village Idiot, but all of us thoroughly enjoyed our US-style breakfasts. Additionally, here are some of our stray compliments to the place – feel free to quote Nugget of Truth on your website, Village Idiot, I know you’ll want to!:
- “Dust levels are medium to low” (midday sunlight is a terrific highlighter of airborne particles)
- “This place is the bomb”
- “The tables move easily” (after following the shade for an hour and a half)
- “We definitely need to come back soon”
Not the most comprehensive of reviews this time, I know, but there was my first documented journey into the heart of Britain-in-LA. I’m excited to try other places and report back!
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* Here are my new Paul Frank glasses, in case you’re interested. Not that they’ll improve my driving very much; I’m long sighted. (And British.)
2012: The Year I Blog More, Worship at the Dance Altar of Tom Jones
Happy New Year everyone! Yes, I know it’s technically almost February and most of you are well past the new year excitement and more in to dreaming of hibernation until spring shines its glorious light back into our lives. You’ve probably given up on any new year resolutions, like me every year when I realize a diet that excludes chocolate is like a life that excludes joy or air. But since this is my first post of 2012, I wanted to wish you a happy new year all the same and goshdarnit you will accept it with a feigned smile that says “I’d prefer you don’t even bother talking to me until St. Patrick’s Day, but fine, thanks, happy end of January to you too.”
So why’s it taken me until January 26 to blog again? Well, I went home for two weeks over Christmas/New Year to spend time with my parents, my brother, and my brand new sister-in-law. While there, my mother gave me influenza (thanks Mum! All I wanted was a new scarf or whatever), which, when I returned to L.A., left me with little energy for anything more than work, sleep, and going to the movies (Note: I’ve seen a LOT of movies recently and is it just me or is Jude Law in every single one of them?!) Anyway, the time off from blogging has given me lots to think about writing about and I’m excited to get back into it. I’ve been to British pubs in L.A. since last I wrote, traipsed around London on soggy January days, and absorbed a ton of Anglo-American pop culture, and I’ve got lots to tell you about!
First things first though, I don’t think I ever followed up on my list of the Do’s and Don’ts of preparing for a sibling’s wedding. The wedding took place in Bowling Green, KY, and it was lovely to realize that my little brother – who will always look like this to me:
The photo that will haunt him for the rest of his life.
- is actually now a Proper Grown Up with a wife! And responsibilities! (I haven’t really lived in the same house with him full time since I left for college at 18, so I have a hard time imagining my little video game-obsessed, history buff, washing dishes-averted brother with responsibilities…) Here we are, looking nothing alike as ever, on his big day:
Are we QUITE sure we're related?!
And here is the happy couple just minutes after the ceremony:
They are so blonde and cute! And I love them.
So, my little brother did indeed get married and we all survived, albeit exhausted. Our usually stoic mother even shed a tear or two! (And we were surprised that our more emotional Dad cried less than we expected…)
That was October; by Christmas we were all glad to have some time off to chill in my parents’ wee village in the Buckinghamshire countryside. Check out the quaintness of this place:
OK, so it's the 2000's, which means I don't know any of the people who live in any of these houses, but it's still a beautiful fantasy of quiet village life.
I’ll write a separate post about the adventures I had in London when my man friend flew over to join us for the New Year holiday, where he totally dug the history whilst feeling personally threatened into drinking tea at every opportunity by my mother. (Sample dialogue from his trip: “I can’t wait to put on my American tourist act and say ‘We do this bigger and better in America’ to everything.”)
I returned to Los Angeles on January 9 with the flu, got immediately back into it at work, and never truly made any new year resolutions beyond the vague “be healthier, save money, try not to kill my goldfish.” Until today, friends. I believe that today I have found a dance “workout” with the ultimate motivating tool: you get to dance for/with Tom Jones! I plan on perfecting this routine, day in, day out, and then stalking The Voice with it until we become best friends united by our love of Wales.
Without further ado, I present to you The Best Dance Routine Ever Invented, and the only new year resolution that matters:
Quick question: Does anyone know where I can find Tom Jones in order to stalk him? I’m very lazy and would prefer not to have to put any effort into this project.
PS. Read this article about that dirty F-word (that’s feminism, my dears) by my dear friend and inspiring blogger of all things political, Louise.
An Open Letter to Emma Watson: Tips for Surviving Oxford Post-Brown
Dear Emma,
Congratulations! You are now an Oxford University student, and if Hermione had taken any further interest in the Muggle world after the owl had dropped off the Hogwarts entrance letter to her surely stunned parents when she was 11 then she would have been so proud of you.
Sadly, I understand that education for young wizards and witches post-Hogwarts is rather limited and that marriage to ones high school sweetheart is typically expected. So, even though it must suck a little bit to play a cool, smart, fearless witch by day and go back to your muggle, paparizzi’d, everyone-calls-you-Hermione-all-the-time life by night, at least you know there’s a chance you didn’t just peak at 17.
I mean, what do you DO after you’ve traveled as a nomad with your hunky ginger boyfriend and Jesus-figure best friend, and destroyed horcruxes, and helped save the world from the most evil, ugly wizard villain of all time—all by the age of 17? It’s all downhill from there, am I right? No Ivy League education for our dear, intellectual Hermione, and probably no $24 million (in goblin gold) in Gringott’s Bank, either. Do you think Hermione tried to make a few bob by writing a tell-all book about the nights of longing on their travels across the UK? Would David Yates hire you to play Emma Watson playing Hermione in the movie version of the TV adaptation of Hermione’s memoir, like when Colin Firth played Mark Darcy in the Bridget Jones movies? Does your head hurt now too? Good, because it’s all preparing you for the deep-thinking, philosophical world of Oxford University.
I spent six months at an American college and had a bit of a culture shock when I returned to my British university. Here are a few tips to you, from me. I hope they’re helpful to you, Emma!
- We don’t play beer pong in the UK. At least, we didn’t six years ago, when I was still a student. Maybe they do now, with the ever-increasing pervasiveness of American culture. But probably not. We Brits, you’ll discover, prefer to just sit around and drink—we don’t want to work for it.
- BUT—and I know you’ve probably forgotten this, since I’m sure you totally obeyed 100% the 21-and-over drinking age limit in the States—in the UK it is legal to imbibe a pint or two (or 30, if you’ve got a few hours to spare) once you hit 18. And as millions of pervy men who, beginning somewhere in the middle of The Prisoner of Azkaban, were anxiously awaiting that day all know, you’ve been 18 and legal for a few years now! Congratulations (to you, not them)!
- And of course, now that you’re back in the UK, you don’t even need to worry about the medical bills should something go awry around pint number 26.
- I’m not really obsessed with alcohol. I don’t even drink very much ever at all. I just know you’re young and you feel invincible. But you seem like a sensible girl. Like Hermione!
- American college is really just a more grown up boarding school. You endure weekly tests, and Resident Advisors, and math class. But you’ll be thrilled to know that British uni is basically a working holiday, where no one cares when you come and go, you only study for your major, and exams come just once a semester. It is extremely liberating, though needs you to maintain a level of self-motivation. You’ll be fine. (I was fine too, but my proclivity towards procrastination gave me a few more panic attacks around exam time than you’ll have to suffer, I’m sure.)
- It’s time to quit that six-Starbucks-a-day habit that all American students have. Get back to your Tetley tea and Digestive biscuits. It’s what JK Rowling would want for you.
- Uni boys in the UK are just as immature as college boys in the US. Best stick with famous musicians for now. Why didn’t I think of that at the time?!
And now for something a little different
Nugget of Truth just got a makeover, y’all!
This blog will continue to be a commentary on pop culture and entertainment, as well as personal reflections, more serious stuff like ethical eating, or the really, really serious stuff like that age old hypothetical question, “Who’d win in a fight between Joan of Arc and Elizabeth I?“
But from now on it will also have more of a Britican feel to it as I finally take advantage, creatively, of being a British girl living in America and use it to provide commentary, critiques, and comparisons of US-UK living, and reviews of British establishments in the U.S. (I live in Los Angeles and will be starting my reviews here. If you would like to guest blog a review—of a U.S.-based British pub/shop/karaoke bar/dentist/jk-we-don’t-have-dentists-in-the-UK)—then please email me at briticannugget [@] gmail.com.
Hope you enjoy the new look and all the fun stuff coming up! Have a pint of Boddingtons and a packet of Cheetos to celebrate!
PS. Follow NoT on Twitter @BriticanNugget 
Re-Introduced
Continuing this theme of TV show intro music, I want to rant ever so briefly on something that’s bugged me ever since we all finally found out what happened after Dawson kissed Joey to stop her from moving to Paris at the end of season one/beginning of season two of the classic (don’t argue with me on this), Dawson’s Creek. From what I understand, the theme song to this show in the US was always “I Don’t Want to Wait” by Paula Cole, a song that is practically iconic in pop culture as being synonymous with late 90s teen angst. It’s a good enough song, I suppose. Whatever.
To me, and the rest of Britain—yes, I speak for all Brits, everywhere—season two brought a sharp jolt of confusion when Paula Cole’s voice emerged from the TV, because we’d been used to this song by Jann Arden, called “Run by Mad,” which was the UK theme song for season one Dawson’s Creek:
Not surprisingly, I’m a fan of this first one. We all like what we’re used to and I thought the lyrics were better for the show. Plus it had this youthful quality to it whereas “I Don’t Want to Wait” has a kind of approaching-middle-aged-woman-getting-desperate-about-her-dying-ovaries feel to it, which now I think about it works quite well for the character of Dawson Leery so never mind.
Around the same time, my FAVORITE TV SHOW OF ALL TIME EVER, Sunset Beach, did the exact same thing, changing it’s theme music from this dramatic, sweeping, almost melancholic sax-heavy tune:
To this bland piece of nothing:
Apologies if you or someone you know composed the second score. I’m sure you were just composing what you were told. And I can never be too careful out here in LA, after insulting the style of a celebrity in a chat with a small group of friends only to be told that one friend is the friend of that celebrity’s stylist. A good example of “If you’ve not got anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all.”
Annnnnyway, this again happened, more recently, with my beloved Veronica Mars, which kept the same song (“We Used to Be Friends” by the Dandy Warhols) but mixed up the tempo and tone for the third and final season, slowing it down considerably to change it from an urban vibe of the first two seasons to a more beachy, laid-back tune for the third and final season. This is the one example I can think of where the changed up theme grew on me a lot, though I still prefer the original by a small margin.
There’s not much else to add to this topic except to say that it’s annoying when the theme song changes, because the opening credits, to me at least, are an important part of the show’s identity and really set the tone for the next 30-60 minutes (try to imagine CSI without The Who, or Golden Girls without that friend song), which is why I’m not a fan of this new trend of omitting opening sequences (Lost, Supernatural). If something works, don’t “fix” it!
I’ve just been informed that there’s a video ad at the bottom of this post. I didn’t put it there! The downsides of a free blog. Sorry, guys.
Oh Crap, Am I a Hipster Now?
I sort of pride myself (as humbly as possible, ya know) on being a total non-follower of trends, be it popular trends or the anti-establishment version of whatever’s popular. Honestly, I’m mostly just too lazy to keep up with trends enough to either follow or protest; if I like something, I like it. Pretty simple!
Except for this one thing that I totally discovered before anyone else and now I’m annoyed it’s gone all (kind of) mainstream: the southern sisters called The Pierces. I came across them when they preceded my friend’s band, Tankus the Henge, at the Water Rats pub in London, in autumn 2007. The Pierces were haunting and quirky and lyrically gifted and I bought their album Thirteen Tales of Love and Revenge when I got home that night. My favorite was this song (filmed around the same time I saw them):
A little while after, this song was used in an episode of Gossip Girl, and I was happy about it, because I want them to get some exposure. But then, sometime this year, I learned it was the theme song to the ABC Family show Pretty Little Liars:
Now, it’s a cool show, I’ve seen some episodes and enjoyed them. But now every time I listen to the Pierces in my car, with the windows down, I feel like that person who only knows who Journey are because of Glee. And I’m totally NOT that person.
Anyway, check out the Pierces because they are awesome.
Also, here’s me dressed as a hipster at a party last weekend (on the left, with my girl B), which is what got me thinking about all this:
Is Journey/Glee a good example? I’m trying to think of a better one, like Carry on My Wayward Son/Supernatural (in this case, I totally AM that person, shamefully), or Short Skirt Long Jacket/Chuck. If you have any better examples, hit up the comments.
In Defense of Kevin Alejandro
DO NOT READ THIS IF YOU ARE A TRUE BLOOD FAN AND HAVE NOT MADE IT TO THE END OF SEASON FOUR. OR IF YOU’RE A FAN OF SOUTHLAND AND HAVEN’T CAUGHT UP. OR IF YOU’RE A FAN OF UGLY BETTY AND HAVE BEEN TOO LAZY TO CATCH UP ON THE DVD’S IN THE MILLENNIA SINCE THAT SHOW ENDED, BUT THEY’RE NOT SPOILERS IF THE SHOW IS LONG OVER, SO THERE. (I haven’t made it to the end of season four of True Blood yet either, but I’m a sucker for spoilers and I know a lot of people hate ‘em.)
Here is Kevin Alejandro:
Not bad, right? This is a photo from him in role as a detective in the marvelous show Southland, which I watch to scare myself about crime in L.A. But a few months ago, I was shocked to see his character Nate brutally, spontaneously dispatched at the hands of a thug in gang territory. It was on a par with Tara’s sudden, violent death in Buffy the Vampire Slayer. So pointless. (But good for drama and the stories of other characters.)
So I accepted his death on Southland, even though it was a little annoying since his character was cruelly murdered on Ugly Betty just a few years earlier. But when he left Southland, all his fans knew it was for the fertile lands of Louisiana, as he’d been offered the juicy, full-time role as Jesus in True Blood. Awesome, we thought. He might get the recognition he deserves as one of the hottest young Latino actors out there.
But, like all of Kevin Alejandro’s characters, Jesus was not long for this world. Of course, he was tragically murdered. I haven’t seen the episode, just read about it online because I can’t resist knowing and because the DVDs won’t be available for, like, a year. I’ve heard that since TB deals with supernatural elements and Alejandro’s contract was renewed that he might well be back next year, I guess as a ghost.
Still, one more character, one more epitaph. I like Kevin. I’d like to see him for more than one or two seasons of a show.
So my message to TV execs is this: please stop killing off Kevin Alejandro! At this point, it’s not even surprising, it’s expected! Try going for a REAL twist by letting his character make it to the end of a show, so he can hand in his key to the super and walk down the stairs to Central Perk and pretend like nothing is coming to an end at all! (Friends—RIP—had the perfect ending and none of the main characters died!)
Positive note: Maybe this will free him up for a return to Parenthood, a show in which no one dies. Probably not.
Who’d Win in a Fight Between Joan of Arc and Queen Elizabeth I?
In my ongoing quest to make my life as complicated as possible, I recently gave my iPod a total makeover, changing the names of my most of my playlists. To names of historical women. I can’t claim credit for this, the most hipster thing I shall ever do in my life; a few weeks ago my bestie informed me that the gangster rap playlist she had assembled and was then playing in her car had been titled “Margaret Thatcher.” I thought: I pick my friends well, because this girl is a freakin’ genius.
So a couple of days ago I turned to my old, weary iTunes collection and looked mournfully at some of my tired playlist titles, such as “divas,” “business we call show,” “blues,” and “mellow,” among others. Yawn. So lacking in flair, and creativity, and intellectual superiority. The time had come to outright steal my BFF’s idea. Here’s an example of what I did:
Yes, I know Marilyn Monroe is in there twice. That's how significant she was, ok? Forget that Iron Lady almost-ran.
Turns out, though, that the new collection is lacking a little something I’ll call re-memorability, since I now spend as much time trying to remember what each playlist actually contains as I did ransacking my feeble brain to think up appropriately significant historical ladies.
Anyway, to address the title question, “Joan of Arc” has replaced “divas” and “Queen Elizabeth I” has replaced “power mix.” Since a fair chunk of Joan of Arc is taken up with belters from the decidedly un-badass divas Celine Dion and Mariah Carey, and Queen Elizabeth I is choc full of bonafide 80s power tunes (like You’re the Voice and Carry on Wayward Son), I’m going to say good ol’ Bessie wins for sheer badassery.
And for sheer hair and mustache power
Plus, Queen Elizabeth I ruled an empire and if she didn’t like you she would order your head be chopped off, whereas poor Joan died tied to a stake, burnt to death.* Now, it is most definitely badass to die for your beliefs. But… Mariah Carey…
And to anyone who cares, he’s a breakdown of the new playlists, almost without explanation:
- Anne Boleyn – songs with “rain” in the title, re: my recent Facebook status (Discovery: I love songs with “rain” in the title. Set Fire to the Rain, Purple Rain, Rain Over Me, Red Rain, Rainy Day Women, Dry the Rain, Rain Is a Good Thing. Is it because I grew up in England?”)
- Calamity Jane – country mix
- Carmen – Carmen, by Bizet
- Condie Rice – “American” songs created for a July 4 roadtrip
- Florence Nightingale – mellow mix
- Jane Austen – classical
- Joan of Arc – divas
- Margaret Thatcher – gangsta rap (of course)
- Marie Antoinette – dance tunes with heavy emphasis on the 80s
- Marilyn Monroe – showbiz/musicals
- Marilyn Monroe – a sad, empty playlist that has been deleted since the photo was taken
- Mary Todd Lincoln – melancholia
- Queen Elizabeth I – power mix
- Queen Elizabeth II – best of British
- Zelda Fitzgerald – eras long gone (pre-50s mix)
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* GROSS HISTORY 101: I just read the Wikipedia entry on “Death by burning.” Apparently a “skillfully” applied execution would culminate in “finally death when the skull exploded.” First of all, that’s finally?! How bad does it have to be before your skull exploding brings the sweet release of death?! (Answer: the condemned’s body would burn progressively in the following sequence: calves, thighs and hands, torso and forearms, breasts, upper chest, face; and then finally death when the skull exploded.) Second of all, I’m no scientist, but I can’t think of a single reason why your head would explode in this situation. So to any scientists reading, please feel free to explain in the comments, while I go hug a puppy to recover from the idea of exploding heads.
Yogalies: Behold, the Queen of Self-Deception!
Guess what I found when I was browsing my DVD collection, trying to find anything to watch besides Twilight (because…Kristen Stewart…ugh) or Atonement (because…weeping my eyes out until there is no more liquid left in my body and all my roommate finds three days later is a shriveled mass curled up in the fetal position…ugh) (PS. Remember that time I met James McAvoy? I do!) (PPS. I really need to update my movie collection)?
I found a disturbing trend; one I wasn’t truly aware of until the other day, though it was sort of there in the back of my mind, like a puzzle just waiting to be put together. Here, I collected the trending offenders into a handy pile:
The Pile of Shame
I discovered that I am a crazy hoarder of work out DVDs. A frequent aspirational purchaser. I am the Queen of Self-Deception!
This collection (and there are a few more in that case sitting on top, though honestly just two or three, not an entire case load) took me a few years to build up, which is why, like a frog sitting in slowly boiling water, I didn’t notice I had a problem until too late. OK, it’s not a perfect metaphor because the frog dies literally while for me it’s just a little bit of my dignity that dies everytime I look at that collection.
Spotting this trend, however, has spurred me into action and forced me to put my shame to good use and actually USE these DVDs, which, I’d like to point out, includes a bellydancing DVD so ridiculous that my laughter produces six pack abs after just one session. I’ve been doing one DVD every day, plus using my handy “My Fitness Pal” app I downloaded on to my phone, which breaks everything down and makes it super easy to count up what you’re consuming—with these two combined, who knows, maybe I’ll fit into that troublesome bridesmaids dress after all!
So, suck it A&E and off with your head!—because sometimes hoarding can be a good thing!
The Biebs Wants Your Gums Healthy
You might know the young adonis Justin Bieber as a singer, dancer, and icon of the side-swept bangs. But I’ve got news for you. He has a secret identity. And I’m about to blow his cover, right now. Hold on to yer knickers, girls…
For I can officially reveal that Justin Bieber is, in fact, a secret crime fighter…
Tirelessly fighting that villainous devil, PLAQUE.
"I'd rather give you the world... or we can share my...toothbrush" - Somebody to Love alternative lyrics
OK, that photo is a little blurry—cameras and I will never be pals—but yes, that is a Justin Bieber singing toothbrush you’re looking at in awe and wonder (breathe! remember to breathe!). It plays either “Somebody to Love” or “Love Me” for the exact two minutes of brushing time that dentists recommend. That’s right! All this time you thought brushing your teeth was just a chore to be endured while inspecting the bags under your eyes or counting your teeth to make sure they’re all still there (you never know). But SuperBieber is here to let you know it can be different, nay, it should be different. There’s another way. You can CONQUER and DESTROY the village of plaque nestled into the valley of your molars and be entertained at the same time. It’s like evolution just took one fantastic 5 foot leap forward.
Despite the sarcasm, I love my new toothbrush. Yes, mine! I admitted it! However, I did not purchase the SuperBiebs; last night, I celebrated the 34th birthday of a friend at a “34 going on 13″ dinner party, for which guests were asked to bring photos of themselves around that age.
More like 11, really... I destroyed all photos of me between the ages of growing boobs and starting college
My photo won the contest! It was between me and the one other person who remembered to bring a photo, but still! Don’t take this victory away from me! I never win anything!
Goodnight Justin. I’ll see you later, in my bathroom, cuddled up to my toothpaste.
And in my dreams, Studmuffin
